Tales from the Shelterverse
by shadoedseptmbr
Summary: Story 6: Cut and Run: Aeryn takes a first step into a wider world, so to speak. As she's a Hawke, that first step is a doozy.
1. Chapter 1

_IDEK, to be honest. I wrote Chap. 25 of Shelter and then this came up. I may make it the first in a series of character explorations from Shelter. Or I may just leave it here. We'll see._

**To Be Expected**

The Old stories simply don't have endings" she'd told him. It needn't be an ending, just a pause. And if he was king...if he was king he could do things, maybe make things better.

For a while.

And it wouldn't be forever. His years would run short. And he'd never been grateful for that before.

And to be a king, a proper king for Ferelden, he needed a queen. So he said yes six months later when Eamon said now, about a queen. And he'd said no black hair, no green eyes. Anyone else.

He asked them. "Have you ever been in love?" Because it wasn't in him to be too dishonest. And sometimes they blushed and stammered. Sometimes they simpered and said maybe you. One had looked through him with piercing grey eyes and said no. And he thought about her and the chestnut curl that dropped across her shoulder.

And one, one glanced down at the delicate ring he wore on the smallest finger of his shield hand and said yes.

She had dark blonde hair with coppery streaks and gentle brown eyes, she was tall and she looked sad. Her father was standing too observant and she looked afraid. And Alistair took her hand and said would you care to walk with me a while.

Her lover had died defending the Southern Hills. Her father had hated the bastard son of his seneschal, but they had planned to run away. And then it was too late.

He liked the freckles across her nose. He startled a laugh out of her. It was enough to be going on with.

He announced the wedding the next day and banished her father the day after.

It was occasionally good to be the king.

He held her hand in the rebuilt Chantry and promised to cherish and protect her. To bestow upon her everything in his possession. And he did that because he had sat beside her in a rose garden under a tree that had been planted in the spring and explained to her that he was not in possession of his heart, but that he hoped to be her friend and hoped to give her a child. And she had smiled and patted his hand and said that was more than she'd expected, really.

In the fifth year of their marriage, he was her friend and she his.

He even found a part of his heart for her, because it wasn't in him to not love a good and gentle woman with a quick mind and a hearty laugh. He gave her everything but roses. Or a child.

And in that fifth year she asked him if she could stray from his bed. She would get him an heir, if he needed one. And she had met someone.

And he was her friend. And he couldn't pretend he had been faithful. So he said of course.

In the seventh year there was still no heir. And she offered to step aside for a younger woman. There's no reason, he said. Unless, of course...and she patted his hand and said no, that was too much to expect.

He was forgetful one night. That she was fragile, that he should hold back. She minded less than he thought she might.

He told her he thought he might take a journey. Would she care to come?

No. But she would be there waiting for his return.

And he went to Cumberland and Tantervale and Kirkwall and back again. And felt refreshed and dismayed by what he found there. With a new appreciation for good Starkhaven whiskey and some hope for a new ally.

And she was a bit plumper than when he'd last seen her, curled on her side in his bed, to be honest.

Her gentle eyes sparkled and she said she had a surprise for him. And he was, truth be told, quite surprised, indeed. To be told what she was expecting.

He drank a bottle of that good whiskey later, after he'd tucked her into bed. He had learned something of women in the last seven years and did not ask if it was his. And he walked down to the rose garden and sat under a tree and wept.

He wasn't sure why, exactly. It wasn't in him to not want a child.

Just that old stories didn't have endings. That it wouldn't be forever. His years were running short. And he was still grateful.

_Author Notes:_

_Yeah. So I couldn't just leave Alistair alone, apparently. Reviews are always appreciated. _


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Deirdre noted about him after his eyes and his solid presence was the odd delicate ring he wore, vines and an enamelled rose.

In their brief, polite courtship she came to know him as protective and that he always had roses in his office. Red and fragrant, though he never bothered with such frivolities elsewhere.

She put it down to shock at her changed circumstances that it took her until he sat her down on a small bench in the newly replanted rose garden to notice a theme. She wasn't usually slow.

Roses were for Her. The Hero.

And when he told her how he'd loved Her (and yes she knew herself foolish for always capitalizing it) and that he didn't know if he could ever be more than a friend and a husband, what could she say? She'd given her heart to a dead man too, though his face had already grown a little indistinct. Alistair chased her angry father away with one shrug, as though he were naught but a nuisance instead of the once doting man who'd sent her love to the front.

He was her hero.

He was good and gentle and accepted her help when she had a skill he did not, as if that were normal. And meeting a few of his companions, apparently it was. The Hero had been endlessly competent and Alistair had been Her second. Why could a woman not be his equal and his superior? He learned her skills of state easily, though.

And he never spoke of Her to Deirdre, unless it was some impersonal bit of history of the Fifth Blight. This is where Lyna met Zevran, he told her once as they passed a random crossroads during a tour.

The assassin who occasionally appeared to check on Alistair. She'd asked the elf once why at a joust on the third anniversary. And he'd told her. "Because he was Hers." And she could tell he capitalized it too, though he was charming and wicked and could make Alistair behave similarly. Though not that day.

He never celebrated the Blight's defeat. He set her in charge of all the celebrations. He attended them all, briefly. Acknowledged her work and thanked her. Made her glow and the audience smile. And then disappeared. To the rose garden, she knew, having followed him once.

It was at the final Ball that year, that she was reintroduced to Teryn Cousland. Fergus. Who bore his own wounds from the Blight. She had not meant to fall in love with Brendan, who died. Nor with Alistair who was affectionate and gentle, if not all consuming. She did intend to fall in love with Fergus.

Alistair had told her he might not be able to have an heir. So, in the back of her mind she had been trying to decide who would give him the best heir. Even if it came to light that it wasn't Alistair's, a Cousland was a good strong contender.

That's what she told Alistair when she asked him if he would hate her for going to another, though she did not mention the name. Fergus was passionate, if not tender. He used his strength. Alistair had explained once that he couldn't. He was afraid to hurt her and he was stronger than he looked and forgetful in his extremis. He smiled and told her he had no room to be jealous.

He usually went to Vigil's Keep a few times a year. Meridan, the Orlesian Commander of the Grey was a good friend and he always returned from her company with a bounce. And a bruise or two of varying sizes, though the woman was a mage. There were others, she knew. Shield maidens and soldiers, never whores or careless nobles. And he had some fascination with the exploits of a Ferelden refugee gone to the Marches and made good, though he'd not met her.

She did not fall in love with Fergus. Even when Alistair had indicated he would let her go to be with her lover. He had never asked who. He had sent her on an envoy or two to Highever. He was merry, but he wasn't stupid.

Alistair was forgetful one night. It was a good night. Though she did bruise a bit. And possibly strained her ribs. Her knee was a little swollen. And maybe that last time or two had been a touch much.

And then he said he needed to go on a journey. This business with Orlais. She thought he was running from his forgetful passion. But he asked her if she would care to come.

She said no.

And regretted it the day he left, leaving her in charge. She was busier than she expected. And it made her tired and then ill. And then Wynne came to see Alistair and smiled and said, how far along?

He came back looking tired and happy and troubled. He'd surprised her, sleeping in his bed. And kissed her, fondly.

And looked very, very surprised when she told him. What she was expecting.

There were fresh roses on his desk when she came in to eat lunch with him the next day. And she knew, though she could hardly recall Brendan beyond the shape of his face and the color of his hair...and his eyes had been blue like skies, she'd said lovingly, but they hadn't really, she couldn't recall why. She knew that Alistair would still be able to describe Her so well that a stranger would recognize Her and an artist could capture Her, though he had no portrait of his lost love.

Zevran came to see him when she started to show and the excitement and rumors spread. For once, he was not charming to her. Not until he'd spoken with Alistair, privately.

They shared a dance that evening and he'd surprised her when he told her, you are lucky your king loves you, inamorata.

He does not.

He looked at her with cold golden cat eyes even as he whirled her and laughed. If he did not love you, oh queen, you would be yet another queenly traitor that I would deal with, as She asked.

And she declined to dance again. Alistair patted her hand and this time when he kissed her goodnight, she stood very still, considering. It felt like love. But, also, it didn't.

And then trouble came over the sea, from a place called Kirkwall.

Trouble was small and light boned and curvy with sly and haunting eyes and sharp blades. She came complete with her own handsome prince and their court of oddly merry and strangely fell characters. Elves and a dwarf and thieves and mages. On a pirate queen's ship, of all things.

Alistair's eyes would follow her swaying figure, time to time. But there was no doubt to who she belonged. Her prince had a zealot's gleam when he looked at his Hawke, though he was as gentle a man as Deirdre had ever met. Hawke wore his fervor as her right and a smile that reminded Deirdre of Zevran's terrible one when anyone approached her prince less than meekly.

They spoke each others names as though they prayed, though he was a devout man. And Deirdre realized that it wasn't just Hawke that drew Alistair, it was _them _and their possibilities. He offered to host their wedding, though the prince declined. Not yet time. Alistair shook his head. I hope they don't regret it he told her.

They had been to Amaranthine to deal with a problem and would move on just before spring. Until then, they were at the king's disposal, if he had need of their...oh, sly wicked eyes...talents. Alistair smiled at them fondly and handed them a small stack of worries suited to such talent.

Deirdre was occasionally disconcerted to find Hawke's eyes on her, observant of her growing awkwardness. It was never unfriendly and more than once, the woman aided her. She didn't want to be afraid of Hawke, who was kind, but... The prince watched her, too. And Deirdre was more understanding of the longing in his eyes.

Cross my palm with silver, said the pirate queen. And cackled. A boy. To match the Vael girl, one day. Raise him hot-blooded and fierce or she'll run him ragged. She palmed the coin and it re-appeared in Deirdre's cleavage an hour later. Wrapped in a note. But I'm no seer, it read.

She watched them practice in the tilting ground one fine wintry day. Hawke whirled and disappeared in her sister's smoke and flame, orbiting around the gleaming pivot of the lyrium marked elf. The prince and the dwarf traded turns raining down retribution and smart quips. The elvhen mage that drew Alistair's eye only to make him frown twined vines and sent men sleeping. The pirate danced and taunted. Only Hawke was silent, a ghost who dropped her enemies as though the wind had slain them. The king's guard went down in minutes, the blunted weapons charmed to stun.

Hawke collected an arrow and drew one crimson edged feather across her lips before she handed it back, earning the prince's lingering focus. Deirdre was not particularly surprised to find them later, her back against the wall of the library, hands pinioned above her while he wrung whispered ecstasy from her lips with his own.

They had no fear of one another's strengths, it seemed.

It was a winter of storms. There were rumors that the Divine was considering Marches. A reconquest of wavering loyalties.

It surprised her when Alistair breathed a sigh of relief to see them sail. He had enjoyed their company, he said. But they were too intense for his day to day comfort and such as they were prone to trouble. He gave a rub to her wide belly and a kiss to her temple. Better to marry and learn to avoid it.

Yet, there were the roses on his desk. And the ring on his finger. And the longing in his eyes as he looked across the distance to the west.

When her pains came, early in the summertide, they took her by surprise. But he held her hand, even when the women and the healers tried to shoo him away. Even though he looked scared, himself. It was possible there was more than one kind of love.

He was yet her hero.


	3. Chapter 3

_Leandra POV, Just after recruiting Fenris in Act 1. Beta'd by the lovely and talented mille libri__, though any errors are, of course, my own. Title from John Mayer's song. _

**be good to your daughters**

Maker, Beth. Enough."

"But you did. You agreed with him!"

Aeryn eyed her sister and replied drily. "Yes. I can't imagine what came over me."

"What are you two arguing about?" Leandra looked up from the rickety table she'd monopolized as her writing desk, where she'd been composing yet another letter appealing to the Viscount. Aeryn was distant, her face composed and bored as she leaned against the wall to pull off her boots. Bethany looked like she might cry.

"Mother, make her apologize!" Leandra stared at her youngest incredulously. When was the last time she'd made her eldest daughter do anything?

Ah, yes. They came to Kirkwall. And the last traces of her bright eyed, lighthearted girl had disappeared behind this mocking, cool stranger. But she did usually attempt to be kind with Bethany. "What's happened?"

"I agreed with someone that if I kept hanging about with mages, I was going to end up in trouble." Aeryn sounded faintly amused and Leandra started to laugh, but Bethany interrupted.

"He called me a viper!"

Their mother turned back to her eldest with a question in her eyes. Aeryn shrugged. It was this, though, that bothered Leandra the most, how what once had been humor would turn sharp and draw blood. Did she really think, now, that Bethany's magic was dangerous?

"He's an elf escaped from Tevinter slavers. I imagine magic's not high on his list of good qualities. And I'm pretty sure he mainly meant Anders."

"Oh." Malcolm had always told her that it was Tevinter cruelty that caused the most trouble in the fight for equality. The Empire's reputation for bloodmagic and cruelty bled over into mages everywhere. If they had encountered an ex-slave it wasn't surprising if he was prejudiced against magic. But that Aeryn agreed with him?

"You just did it because he's pretty!" Aeryn's slightly predatory grin sent Leandra's eyebrows soaring.

"Well, that massive sword was a draw, too."

"Aeryn!"

"Greatsword, Mother. Handy in a fight."

"Honestly. The company you keep is making you coarse." The smile was gone as if Leandra had thrown a sheet over her, back to cool and bland. This was a mask Leandra had taught her daughter, a noblewoman's refuge, but she'd never expected it to be turned on her.

"Of course. I apologize. To both of you. Excuse me, ladies." Aeryn dropped a curtsey, grabbed her boots and left the hovel.

Leandra followed her to the door, but her daughter was gone, quick as a whip, disappearing into the gloomy late afternoon with an ease that frightened her mother. All sorts of hard new tricks Aeryn had developed in the last year, but shadows had always come easily to her. She'd spent three frantic hours one morning searching for her six year old girl only to discover her in the darker corner of the hut they'd been renting outside of Highever. "I was right here, Mama. I thought we were playing a game. You, me and the shadows!" With a sweet gap toothed smile and big wide eyes. Malcolm had laughed when he came in and tossed her high before setting her back on her feet.

"Going to be a grand little bard someday, aren't you lovely?" She'd nodded and twirled with uncanny grace in her bow. Always small, she never seemed to go through an awkward stage.

"Just like the Black Rose and Katriel, Father. Running messages for the king and stealing secret plans from the wicked Orlesians!" He'd chuckled, swinging her up to toss her again and she giggled.

"Oh, Malcolm..." But a baby's impatient squall had broken her impulse to rebuke Malcolm for inspiring their daughter to tricks and thievery. And then, one day, not long after Bethany had set Carver's wooden sword afire in revenge after he'd scalped her doll, the little knives came.

"She's got to learn to defend herself, Leandra." Malcolm had explained. "Ferelden isn't noble Kirkwall and I'm no titled lord to raise her daintily and marry her off to a protector. She's never going to be big enough for heavy swords and you have to admit, she's a natural." They had watched Aeryn flick three of the light throwing knives towards a target. Two of them completed rotation and stuck. It was no hardship to have laughed and applauded at her grin and her high court curtsey. It hadn't been a month before Aeryn hit the full set more often than not. The daggers that appeared a year or so later hadn't seemed out of place.

Leandra stared out into the greying street, an echo of girlish laughter in her inner ear. The wind was picking up again. Another squall due. Bethany came up behind her and sat a warm hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't mean to set her off." Leandra let her youngest draw her back into the hovel. "She likely just went to see Varric, anyway. Blow off a little steam with darts and a pint."

Leandra sat and allowed Bethany to set up tea.

That her daughter had become accustomed to frequenting taverns was a moot point. The fact that the dive was a step up from her haunts of the last year was worse. And it probably wasn't a dart game Aeryn had gone to lose herself in. Leandra had no illusions about Aeryn's innocence any longer.

She had looked away, only briefly it seemed, and her scoundrel in pigtails had turned into a woman without a by your leave. Aeryn had carried herself with a woman's knowledge of her body since well before she left for the king's army, sometimes so naturally sensual she made her mother blush. Not vulgar, though gazes followed and Aeryn lured them on, sly eyes and a wry smile and that sway in her walk that never came from Leandra, raised to be demure. But not yet with any emotion behind her smirk, either.

Leandra had heard Aeryn and Bethany chatter about boys in Lothering, especially once Bethany had bloomed. Bethany had a romantic vision of a gentle knight while Aeryn had been openly speculative aboutthe cut of their trousers. And when Leandra worked up the nerve to ask she'd gotten a "Nothing but a bit of fun, Mother." And that's all it ever seemed to be. There'd never been a broken hearted sigh from her eldest, never a mooning, lovesick pine. Just fun.

Leandra had brought it up once with her village friend, Miriam, who had shrugged and said plainly,"There's those that fall in love with every change of the wind. There's those that're picky and the ones that just don't have it in them to love. And the ones that will only love once. I imagine Aeryn is one of those. Intense, that gal of yours, for all she's a scamp."

Not long after that, she'd seen Aeryn standing on the porch of the village shop eyeing a new Templar who was aiding a Chantry sister with her shopping. At first Leandra had thought it was only the young man's fine jawline and the hazel eyes until... she saw it. A cold, calculating flicker when Aeryn had glanced back at Bethany, who was browsing through the fabrics on display. A shift of her shoulders, hunching and then setting, stiffly just before she relaxed into a prowl aimed at crossing the man's path. The small, private nod as if telling herself something, agreeing to something. Leandra had called to her on reflex, as if something frightening had just crossed her daughter's shadow and given Leandra a frantic need to gather her close.

Aeryn had turned, sharply, but she'd come home willing enough. After she checked on Malcolm, who had stayed home with a headache, they started supper. They had been slicing turnips amicably at the farmhouse table, Bethany and Carver out milking, and Leandra decided. Swallowing hard she'd spoken. "I know that perhaps your Father and I have made love look...hard. As though it were too much trouble to bother with. But it's all been worth it, my darling. Please believe me. Love...true love is infinitely precious. Don't wager with it. It's too easy to make it...a commodity. Something easy to bargain with."

"Promise me, Aeryn. Promise me you won't ever lie about love."

Those grey eyes had flashed and for a moment she thought her daughter would laugh and dismiss her mother's meddling. But, then her sharp little chin had ducked. She'd drawn in her shoulders, again, protecting herself. And she'd nodded, slowly, looking up through her lashes. "Alright, Mama. I promise." Aeryn hadn't called her "mama" since before Lothering, when Malcolm had bought Aeryn's daggers and she'd stepped away from being a little girl. The promise hadn't seemed to slow Aeryn down, really. But she'd never gone again towards a Templar. Never again had Leandra seen that cold calculation turned towards a man like a hard bargain. She thought perhaps that she'd managed to see soon enough to save her girl one last time, but Kirkwall had made plain that Leandra had missed too much, somehow.

Aeryn never talked about boys now. She listened, sympathetic and cautioning, to Bethany's not quite innocent crushing on that apostate friend of theirs, Anders. She grinned wolfishly now and again over a comment Aveline would make. No names ever crossed her lips, though. No giggles in the night between the girls. Leandra didn't recall the last time Aeryn had giggled. However, Leandra wasn't so old that she didn't recognize the smell of sex and the occasional sultry stretch.

When Malcolm died, he'd left her with a too wise older daughter and a pair of half grown twins, one of whom was a half trained mage, and a reasonably productive farm. When he heaped the burden of them all on Aeryn's slim shoulders, Leandra had been too grief stricken to object. Then she'd been injured, cut her arm on a scythe and by the time she'd recuperated, the Hawke household had been firmly in the grip of Aeryn's small hand, her clear duty, shoulders stronger already.

Only now and again, Leandra saw a glimpse of something wild and scared and starved in her daughter's eyes.

The month before Aeryn lit out for the army, she saw it. They'd been afraid that the Marddyn boy might report Bethany after he'd frightened her behind the granary after a festive shucking dance. But it had been a last hurrah, it seemed, as he'd apparently joined a mercenary band on its way to Gwaren.

One of Malcolm's old collegues had dropped by, ostensibly to check on Bethany's progress. It turned out he wanted more than that, he'd succumbed to the lure of bloodmagic and wanted Bethany as a pet, an apprentice. Aeryn had had to...she looked at her daughter's weapons chest in the corner. She'd killed the man. And when Leandra had tried to sympathize, to comfort, Aeryn had seemed surprised and shrugged. "Father told me I might have to, Mother. I was prepared to do it. Whatever it takes to protect our Beth." She hadn't smiled, as if she considered it would be inappropriate.

Whatever it takes. Leandra had felt very old that day. She had killed to protect her family, to protect Malcolm, distantly with the bow that had been a lady's whim in Kirkwall. Fashionable to follow in the Rebel Queen's footprints. But even so, she'd wept in Malcolm's arms over it. It had seemed wrong that Aeryn wasn't more upset. A sudden chill in her heart had made her ask. "Aeryn, did...did Evan Marddyn... He didn't go to Gwaren, did he?"

There it had been; that look, gone so fast that Leandra dismissed it, then. She'd blinked wide grey eyes at her mother, her face pale and still. "Maker, Mother. What do you think I am?" There had been a choke in her voice. "I grew up with Evan, Mother. I danced with him that night! How could I hurt him?"

"Oh, Aeryn, I'm sorry, I just...worry. Your father didn't mean that you should take death lightly. He didn't teach you those skills to make you a killer."

"Of course not, Mother! Just when it's necessary."

Necessity is an odd shaped peg. Sometimes it fits too many holes. Aeryn had said in her note that it was necessary that she join the army, too. That she was needed. And then it was necessary to leave Carver on the road, with only one of Bethany's firespells and a hasty prayer from a stranger to wing him to the Maker. And then it was necessary to work for the Red Iron, every time coming home with eyes even emptier and a smile ever sharper. To stay out all night, to come home smelling of blood and sex and liquor. And now it was taking every job she could to scrape coin.

Aeryn prowled back to the hovel in the grey dawn with a flush high on her cheeks and a loose, languid note in her walk, twirling a new knife. Leandra had fallen asleep, waiting, slumped over her writing desk.

Leaning over to press a kiss to her mother's temple, Aeryn whispered, "Shouldn't wait on me, Mother. Sometimes a job will run late. You know that." She smelled of salt air and cider, musk and...incense? There was a lovebite on the spot where her neck joined her shoulder. And, Leandra noticed, startled, lipstain on the edge of her tunic in a shade Aeryn never wore.

"I wanted to ask if you could accompany us to Chant tom...later today?"

Aeryn nodded, slowly. "Of course. Though, there seemed to be a bit of fuss there earlier, so let's go to late morning service." Not even a roll of her eye. That was interesting.

"Will it be a bother?"

"No." She noticed her mother's curiosity a bit late, staring at the floor in a considering manner as she leaned boneless against the crumbling plaster of the wall. So, yes. More than a pint. "One of the priests has a notice up. I want to check him out before I take the job."

"Why would a priest need a, ah, your sort of help?"

Aeryn cocked her eyebrow at her mother's evasion of her skill. It evoked Malcolm so that Leandra's heart clutched.

"Something to do with a death in his family, I think." She stood and stretched, fluid as a cat, "I'll catch a nap and be ready by nine bells."

Leandra watched her pull back the curtain that divided their sleeping area from the front room and light-footedly enter, trying not to wake Bethany. She would light a candle, today. Light a candle for her little girl, who had disappeared one morning and left this woman behind. And perhaps another for the man somewhere who might love her, anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Author's Note:_**_ Another Tale of the Shelterverse, another Leandra POV, this one...well, you guess when it takes place. Thanks to mille libri for the timely beta, but as always, any mistakes are mine._

_Bioware owns all, I'm just happy to play in the sandbox. Title from John Mayer's song, Fathers._

**love like you do**

* * *

Aeryn had a small party, just her mad, merry band as she called them. Leandra had eaten and visited a little before withdrawing to her own affairs. She liked this circle Aeryn had built around herself. They were all so colorful and some _were_ merry and some dangerous and all of them in need of a bit of family.

Anders reminded her of Malcolm, with his distracted lazy charm. Varric, who had a tongue like silverite wrapped in velvet. Sweet little Merrill and wicked Isabela. Aeryn's Fenris, who was nearly a staple of the Hawke household, so close that Leandra had once thought they might be lovers.

But Fenris was the one person Aeryn never seemed to turn that side of herself to.

It took Leandra a while to understand it - that Aeryn learned somewhere to wield her flirting as a weapon and her body as a defense**, **butwith Fenris, she seemed to feel safe enough to not need it. With Fenris, Leandra saw a side of Aeryn that had disappeared when Carver died; the teasing, wheedling older sister, constantly pulling the temperamental young man out of his doldrums with promises of adventure.

Aeryn started to come back to herself, once Fenris had joined them. The first real smile Leandra had seen on Aeryn's face in Kirkwall came in a moment with Fenris, Isabela, and Varric, over a boisterous early morning breakfast at Gamlen's after a night out fighting bandits. They'd brought a basket of eggs, loaves of fresh bread, a flat of berries, and a measure of cream and for just an hour or so Leandra had been able to bustle around and feed hungry people in a warm kitchen. It turned out later they were celebrating the end of all the scraping. They'd finally brought in enough coin for the expedition. In the midst of it were Isabela and Varric boisterously jibing one another, Bethany giggling, Aeryn smirking, and then...her eldest daughter had grinned; openly, honestly, fondly at Fenris over some dry comment he'd made.

As far as Leandra was concerned, that meant the elf was as welcome in her home as sunshine.

Now, safely ensconced in her family estate, Leandra rarely saw the kitchen and Aeryn's companions made themselves at home in her parlor. And besides the others, now there was Sebastian Vael. The last scion of that illustrious family who had written their name on Starkhaven.

_Prince_ Vael, though Leandra still saw him often in the Chantry, as devoted as ever to his prayers. Dedication in all the elegant, handsome lines of his body as he worshiped in the Chant.

Yet, he was clearly part of the crew, now. Learning his place, learning to fight in the group, earning his keep. Aeryn was starting to rely on him, Leandra could tell, especially as Varric was so often busy with family business. Sebastian explained once to Leandra that most of the profit he received went straight to Chantry coffers, and then, too, he was trying to build a fund to retake Starkhaven.

But that wasn't the reason Sebastian Vael followed Leandra's daughter. Oh, no.

Leandra had noticed Brother Vael's interest in Aeryn, long ago. The way he would veil his interest in pious, though honest, concern, offering to pray for her whenever Leandra crossed his path in the Chantry. Eager to hear of her in the days before Aeryn had asked him to fight with them.

Even so, Leandra had been shocked to see him that first time. Covered in blood, bow on his shoulder, a flush of triumph on his cheekbones and a sparkle in his eye. She'd spoken his name, called him Brother Sebastian and he'd blushed and stammered, poor boy.

He had been so quiet at first in the midst of Aeryn's merry band. Now he joined in a bit, in their banter. In their fun. And he watched Aeryn, when she wasn't looking. Studied her daughter's sweet face as if he might find the Maker's truth written there.

And Leandra had seen Aeryn watching Sebastian. Had seen her close her eyes and listen to him speak. Seen the slight, soft smile that would randomly cross her daughter's face before Aeryn, normally so controlled, could school it away. And also seen the clenched jaw and the dark sorrow that clouded her features on other occasions, when Aeryn thought she was alone.

Leandra knew that look, too. Knew it intimately. Had seen it on her own face, in mirrors long ago, when she was in love with an apostate mercenary that she could never have. And it was like her daughter, to have chosen to love a priest of the Chantry. To have picked, finally, a man to love who had already made a commitment to the Maker's own.

But Sebastian Vael was no longer a priest. That was the rumor amongst the women at the Chantry, though there was no official recognition of the fact. The prince was seen often in the social scene of Kirkwall, somehow toeing a line between noble and religious as he curried favor. Prince Vael had no reason to hide his interest in women, in Aeryn, any longer. He probably saw more of Aeryn than Leandra did these days.

And Leandra noticed differences in Aeryn. The late nights were fading. Aeryn didn"t come home smelling of sex anymore, with that loose limbed grace that had marked her casual encounters. She still didn't sleep. Leandra hadn't missed that. Aeryn still spent her nights in the garden, in practice. Or staring into the fire, with a glass (or bottle) for company. Or scrubbing the floors of the estate. And sometimes, Aeryn burst out of the house like she'd been wrapped in lightning, tension exuding from her like electricity. But she only came back with bruises, never lovebites, now.

It was something to consider.

Leaving them to their cards and stories, Leandra had gone to her rooms shortly after supper. She came down looking for a cool drink and wasn't surprised to hear a deep male voice countering Aeryn's low musical tone. Fenris often stayed...but, oh, that warm lilt never belonged to Fenris.

Oh, dear. She really should go back upstairs.

Dishes clattered as they were stacked. "Thanks, by the way for staying," Aeryn was saying.

"You seemed to want to speak with me." Prince Vael's voice was gentle. The lilt was soothing and sweet and it was no wonder, Leandra thought, that Aeryn often stopped just to listen.

"Yeah, I did." Glass tumblers clinked together and the fire hissed as something liquid was thrown into it.

"Well, what then?" The archer sounded amused at Aeryn's hesitance.

"You know, we all...we all tend to chatter when we fight. Foolish things. Bits of banter."

"All but you, yes."

"Well, not much of a sneak attack if you're babbling on about your prowess."

The prince snorted. It was an inelegant noise to come from such a well born man, but it made Aeryn chuckle. "When we were fighting last night...you called out 'For Starkhaven.' But you also...Then you said..."

"For Hawke." Oh. Oh, _my_.

There was a pause and then Aeryn said forcefully"Sebastian...you can't...You aren't fighting _for_ me. I'm no general. You aren't fighting for my _honor_. We're all...partners." Sebastian tried to say something but Aeryn barreled through him. "_No_. Fight for your home, oh prince, if you choose to. Fight for your Maker, Brother Vael. I'm not..._yours_ to fight for," Aeryn finished firmly and Leandra's heart ached. She could finish that thought. _Not his, not anyone's_.

Leandra couldn't quite make out Sebastian's next words, only the quiet, smooth tone.

Out of long familiarity though, she picked up Aeryn's glib answer. "Does say Starkhaven right there on the mark, 'tis true. Anyway, I just wanted to...check. Stay for a minute, please? I picked up something the other day I think you'll like." Leandra just had time to scramble back into the darker hall before her daughter popped out of the study. Aeryn clearly thought herself alone because the emotion showed plainly, there was something like regret, loss, _longing _on her lovely face as she trotted up the stairs**.**

He followed her, stepping into the doorway, and there was no doubting the longing written across his aristocratic features. Want, even. And something shockingly familiar, that half-starved look that now and again passed in Aeryn's eyes. Then very quietly, but sure, the archer spoke into the seemingly empty hall, brilliant eyes hooded and intense. "My bow and I _are_ yours, Aeryn Hawke. As long as you'll have me near. Maker, forgive me."

And though it was quietly spoken, the back of Leandra's neck prickled with the force of the declaration. Gracious. _Holy Andraste, guide them. _

Sebastian (and Leandra decided that he was simply Sebastian, then. If he belonged to her daughter, then he belonged to Leandra, too.) rubbed at the back of his neck then, and as her daughter came back to the landing schooled his features into geniality. Huffed a reluctant laugh as she slid down the last bit of the banister to land near him. Leandra bit her lip to stop a scold. Her scapegrace. Her scoundrel girl.

And this man loved her.

Their Sebastian left not long after. Aeryn had handed him an amulet she'd...acquired...on her travels. He'd thanked her, sincerely, and when Aeryn had turned away briefly, Sebastian had touched the piece of jewelry with something like astonishment on his face. As if he'd never received a gift before. But that couldn't be right.

He'd gathered up his pack and the bow by the door and Aeryn had closed it behind him with a soft reply to his "Good night, then, Hawke."

Aeryn leaned her forehead heavily against the wood for a minute before shaking herself like a mabari and walking slowly back into the study, the door thudding shut. Leandra took her chance to escape back to her room.

It didn't surprise Leandra to hear the rhythmic thump of knives from the garden, later, in the wee hours. Leandra hardly ever went down to check on Aeryn anymore, knowing that she'd just get her daughter's deflection and if she pushed too far, her rejection.

The best way to keep Aeryn together was to work from a distance. Leandra had given Aeryn the quietest, darkest room in the estate, perfect for naps. Now Orana was here and, under the guise of learning new dishes, Aeryn had revived her interest in cooking, took more to eat. The hollows in her cheeks had filled out a bit, even if the shadows under her eyes remained.

But considering what Leandra heard, earlier perhaps a little girl talk was in order. She pulled on her silly confection of ahousewrap and padded down the stairs, again. From the tiny porch, she could see Aeryn's practice ring and her daughter, thrown into silhouette by the setting moonlight. The light also glinted off a bottle of something, nearly empty. Leandra could only hope it had loosened her daughter's tongue.

Of course, Aeryn had heard her approach. "It's late. You should be asleep." As she straightened her limber body out of a complicated stretch.

"I could say the same for you," Leandra chided just a little.

Shrugging, Aeryn walked to the target to pull her knives, gleaming, sharp, and cold. "You know me, too much energy to sleep." And it was true Aeryn had never been a good sleeper, even as a baby. But back when she and Bethany and sometimes Carver had piled into the straw and feather tick in Lothering, Aeryn used to at least get more, a decent six hours or so. Now she had all feathers, fine linen, and a bed to herself and probably never got more than a few hours, even on good nights.

"I heard Sebastian leaving." Aeryn raised one neat, arched eyebrow at her mother's informality and Leandra smiled a little, inwardly. It had been Malcolm who was good at dissembling. Leandra had always relied on her obviously guileless charm to cover any missteps. Aeryn, her little mimic, had picked up both techniques. "He seems to have grown fond of you."

Ah, too far. Aeryn's face went carefully blank, closed off, and her pale shoulders shrugged. "It's not what you think it was, Mother. He's just...looking for something to belong to. Somewhere he fits."

But Leandra wanted to push. Aeryn could be too stubborn. "Could he not belong here, with you?"

That drew out a bitter laugh. "Priest or prince, Mother. Now imagine what I am loving _either_. No. Doesn't work that way. Pretending otherwise is a fairy tale." But there was no cruelty in Aeryn's voice and her grey eyes were clear and level. Aeryn was telling the truth as far as she knew it.

"Maybe not, darling. But what about the man?"

Aeryn balanced one of her throwing knives across the back of her hand and flicked. The knife rotated in the air before she caught it, as it plunged to the earth.

"It's no good, Mother. I'm not...he doesn't...It doesn't work. It's too late." Aeryn's shoulders hunched and her voice was thin and wan, the red lashes making dark curves under her downcast eyes**. **Heartsore, Leandra opened her arms, Aeryn slid into them, and for just a minute, Aeryn was her little girl again, craving comfort before she pulled away. "I'm sweaty, Mother. Don't let me ruin your gown."

"I don't mind, my darling girl. I never did."

"I know. But I do. That bit of frippery cost a fortune." Aeryn grinned and Leandra realized that she'd gone as far as she could. But she'd keep working. After all, Leandra had her own suitor now. And she couldn't leave Aeryn in this huge house, all alone. Merry band, notwithstanding, Aeryn needed Sebastian. And from the look on his face, he needed her, too. And knew it.

There was time enough. Leandra went back to bed, making plans.

In her armoire upstairs, there was a length of beautiful silvery blue Orlesian silk, custom dyed to suit her gray eyed daughter who wore black too often. Leandra had meant to have it made up for Aeryn's name day. If they got to work, Leandra and Orana could have it done in a trice. Then she could have a small party, do a bit of strategic inviting, maybe even her own...beau.

And see how Sebastian's beautiful eyes lit up when he saw their Aeryn in something besides leather.

Oh, she couldn't wait!

* * *

_**Author's Note:** __Thanks for reading!_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's Note: atomicpen has a lovely list of prompts for her 100 Days of Fic over at tumblr. I might not do them all in Shelterverse, but this one grabbed my attention and wouldn't let go. **_

**Tales from the Shelterverse: Blue**

**16 Guardian, 8 Dragon**

It was so _pretty_.

He'd seen it before, the silvery crown thing Mother wore on her dark head when she went to sit on the dias with Father. He knew it's squiggly lines and loops and its blue rock that hung in the middle loop...no a jewel, like a treasure, Nan had said.

But he'd never seen it so close.

Sebastian had been brought to Mother's rooms so that she could look at him, Nan said. To see if his brown velvet doublet was acceptable, if his hair was brushed neatly enough. He was going to have his picture painted, she said. "And long past time, too, considering the other two were still in skirts when they had theirs done." But he wasn't supposed to have heard that part, Nan had been chatting with a gardener while Sebastian had been digging in the freshly turned earth. He'd found a long pale worm and a bit of smooth pale green glass. Nan had let him keep the treasure, but the worm belonged in the Maker's rich ground, so she said.

Fine by him anyway. He'd seen Lucas' and Alex's pictures up in the east hall of Glâc Lan. Fat, round-eyed babies in long white dresses like they were lasses. Never mind that Lucas was two foot taller than Sebastian and Alex two stone heavier, now. He didn't want anyone to look at a picture of him in a dress when he was a big lad like them and poke fun.

It had been Mother in those pictures that had drawn Sebastian's eye. In her long blue dresses, like the one she'd worn last month when Grandfather had stepped down and Father had taken his place as Prince. And her..."Nan? What's that, then?" He pointed at the silvery thing with it's blue jewel.

She looked up from the sock she was knitting. "Never seen a child go through socks like you, sweet laddie," she sighed. "Oh, now. That's the Vael circlet. Your mam wears it when she's being the Lady and well you know, you've seen it surely."

"Aye." In the other pictures, Mother had worn her dress and her...circlet, he turned the new word over in his mind. And baby Lucas and baby Alex had sat in her lap.

"Nan? Does it take a long time to make a painting?"

"Aye, it does. Hours and hours. You'll have to be good and still a great long time." She tapped him on his nose the last three words with her carved knitting needle and he grinned up at her.

"I can do it." Sebastian swore. Hours and hours. With his beautiful mother, just the two of them. Just like Lucas and Alex. Maybe...maybe not on her lap. He was heavy, so Nan told him when she helped him climb into his high bed. But _with_ her. "I can be still as _anything_."

Nan looked at him oddly and her voice was soft. "I know you can, sweetling." She blinked and looked down at her sock again.

Ignoring her sudden turn, Sebastian looked back at the circlet. It sat on a round cushioned stand on a small table with some boxes and wee bottles and a jar of brushes like Mother sat here and painted, too. A breeze fluttered the white drapery at the tall windows, open to air the room on an unexpectedly bright day in earliest spring, and the light caught in the flat places on the dangling jewel.

His piece of green glass caught light when he held it up. He'd tell Mother about it, while they were sitting...maybe he could just lean against her knee. And maybe she'd want to know about his other treasures, the tiny elfin arrowhead he'd found the last time he and Grandfather had gone walking and the six red feathers from an old nest in the peach tree just outside the kitchens and maybe...

"What are you doing?" His mother's voice startled him from where he been up on his toes, trying to see if he was tall enough to touch the stone. He jerked back and knocked one of the little glass jars off of the table, watching in horror as the powdery contents went flying as it crashed heavily towards the polished wood floor. He tried to catch it, but he only managed to deflect it to land on a woven carpet, so at least it didn't break. "Answer me!"

"I was...I was just..."

"Maker's Breath, Sebastian! Stop mumbling like a peasant. Speak clearly."

He remembered now. "Yes, Mother. I'm sorry." His piping voice almost as clipped as hers.

"Better. Remember this mess before you touch something else that isn't yours." Mother glanced down with a sigh at the spill before she looked at him. She tilted her head, narrowing her large eyes, blue as jewels, blue as her...oh. She wasn't wearing a blue dress. She was in a dark red dress. It was pretty, too. But Sebastian didn't think it looked as soft as the ones in the other boys' pictures. "You look fine. The brown shows well on you." She said, brushing a speck of powder from his stiff, embroidered collar. It itched and he hated it. Looking at Nan she said, "Take him down to the Yellow Salon. Tomas said the light was best there."

Nan curtseyed. "Yes, Your Highness." She reached for Sebastian's hand but he was looking at his mother.

"Aren't you coming, too?"

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Why would I?"

"Th'...I mean, _The_ other pictures. With Lucas and Alex, you were..."_ Holding them. They were on your lap_. "...there."

Mother had bent gracefully to pick up the spilled cut glass jar. "They were _babies_, Sebastian. You're a great big boy perfectly able to stand on your own. Remember to stand up straight and do as Master Tomas tells you. Nan, please tell Mathilde about this mess. Hurry now. Artists are so picky about light."

Alessandra Vael swept out of the room, the red skirt trailing. The door clicked, _locked, _behind her as she retired to her salon. As if he might chase after her if she didn't keep him out. Someday she wouldn't keep him out, he'd know about keys and...

Sebastian felt as if he'd swallowed his bit of glass or maybe some of the powder but...but he was a big boy. He was six. He was...

Nan's freckled hand patted his shoulder and he looked up at her. "Come on, laddie. Don't spoil those fine eyes." She smoothed back the hair where it threatened to flop forward onto his forehead. "We'll go and have it over with. Afterwards, I think I know where Flossie had her kittens last week.

He blinked, once then twice, wanting to shout. He _knew_ where Flossie was. He'd seen those kits _yesterday_. But Nan was trying to be nice. "Yes, Nan." Sebastian followed quietly as she led him down the backstairs.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: A Tale from the Shelterverse, Cut and Run: **_Warning for mentions of animal deaths and descriptions of throat cutting._

* * *

Aeryn followed Bethany home, trying very hard not to think about what had just happened.

She'd have to tell Father.

Glancing up at the woods around them, the trees on the edge of the forest were tall and slender, the green in a hundred shades that all changed like a bit of witchglass as the sun moved across the sky. This little house on the edge of the Brecillian Forest had been Aeryn's favorite place yet. Quiet and lonely, Mother said.

He'd probably decide they'd have to leave. It was her fault for not keeping a better eye out on Beth, for straying too far up the bank fishing while Bethany was left on her own.

It was her fault. If she hadn't turned her back, there wouldn't have been anything for the Templar to see. They'd have just been two little girls, playing near the river.

Bethany skipped into the house. "Mama! Mama, look at all the fish we caught!"

"I wanna see the fish! You better not have caught that big trout, Papa promised he'd show me where it sleeps!" Carver's voice, hoarse with the cough that had kept him home, came with a fretful whine at the end. He hated being left behind.

"We caught all the fish!"

"No you didn't!"

Mother looked out of the door, to find her eldest child hesitating on the broad bit of red sandstone Malcolm had laid as the front step when they were making the little abandoned house livable. She smiled her warmest smile at the stringer Aeryn had fashioned from multi-stemmed branch. "Oh, that's a nice catch."

Aeryn couldn't seem to make herself go into Mother's clean, fresh house. She felt filthy, all of a sudden. The slime from the fish stank on her hands and there were flecks of blood on her bare feet from their slit bellies, where she'd gutted them by the river. "I'll…I'll go scale them by the wood shed."

"That's fine. I'll have Bethany grate that stale loaf and we'll fry them up. You didn't happen to pick any cress while you were on the river, did you?" She'd turned to go back to her sewing, but Leandra stopped and brushed a straying dark red lock from Aeryn's forehead with smooth fingers and narrowed her eyes. "You look a little pale, darling. You haven't caught Carver's cold, have you?"

"No, no I don't think so. It's just hot, today."

"Well, alright. Get cleaned up and come inside out of the sun. Your father should be home this evening and you know how he loves trout."

"Yes ma'am."

Aeryn turned away, feeling her mother's sharp blue eyes on her back. She was being too quiet, she'd have to liven up or Mother would know something had happened.

She pumped water into the trough and scrubbed her hands, using one of the rags by the pump to clean her feet. She could still smell blood, though, so she washed again, scrubbing around her nails until one cuticle tore.

She bit the tiny flap of skin off.

One of the fish gave a limp twitch, moving the whole branch and she stared at its glaring gold eye, starting to glaze over. The Templar had glassy blue eyes as he'd gazed up, pale like watery jewels. He'd gasped and his fingers had reached….

"Pup! Mama says you caught the whole river!"

Aeryn jerked around, the dull butter knife she'd been scaling the fish with up defensively in front of her and Malcolm gave a heart chuckle. "Good reflexes! But save it for…" His eyes are sharper than Leandra's or simply less preoccupied with a sick seven year old. "What's happened, then?"

"Someone saw Bethany, Papa." She couldn't look him in the eye. She'd been told a hundred times not to turn her back on Bethany, even if no one is around. "A Templar."

"Saw her casting sparks?" Aeryn nodded.

"Where?" He'd opened the small cupboard in the wood shed to draw out the staff he kept hidden there. It was the wicked looking one, with a spiked blade on the end.

"On the river. It's okay though. I fixed it. I'm sorry I wasn't watching, Papa. I just….Mama wanted cress and I thought I saw some and she was making plates out of acorns and she was just playing…."

He set his fingers on her lips, stopping her breathless explanation. "It's alright, Aeryn. I'll…" What she'd said caught up with him then. "What do you mean you fixed it?"

"He didn't see me. I got up on the bank behind him. He wasn't wearing his helmet."

His fingers clutched her narrow shoulders, "Pup? What did you do?"

"I fixed it, Papa. It was my mistake and I fixed it. I'm sorry, I won't ever not watch again. I promise…Do we have to leave?"

"Aeryn…stop and tell me exactly what happened." He was grim suddenly, lines around his eyes and his mouth, half hidden in soft black beard, turning him sharply older.

"I went around…you know where the banks are really high and that one is eaten out, like a cliff? And…and I hid in shadows. I know I'm not supposed to, but…"

"Go on."

"I got behind him. I had my fillet knife, it's really sharp."

She couldn't hear herself, but her sweet voice got a little dreamy as Malcolm listened. "It was just like where you showed me on that hog we killed last autumn. I could see the little pulse, his artery was really close to the surface and he was all excited, looking at Bethany. His hands were shaking. I think I jumped….I don't remember….but it wasn't as hard as the hog. He had skin like a rabbit, the knife went right in. I think I got his airway too, there was a sucking sound and he…didn't scream. I thought he'd scream. But Bethany didn't hear, even." She hadn't taken her eyes off of Malcolm's but the glimpse of pride in her face, that Bethany didn't hear it, shocked him enough that he let it show and she faltered.

"Didn't I do it right? Did I do something wrong?"

Looking back, Aeryn would remember the way Malcolm's whole body had crumpled, his shoulders jerking in, his head bowing for just a tiny moment. Her impossibly tall, strong father had looked like his world had caved in. Of course she'd done wrong.

And in her nightmares the Templar's eyes blinked blindly at her again, the blood on her skin would burn with implication and the words of the Chant would echo as they damned her to the Void.

HIs child was a murderer, only interested in whether or not she'd done it right. She'd remember the way the light had gone out of him.

He swallowed, once, twice. "What did you do with the body?"

"I…I covered it with bracken, there under the cliff. And…" she pulled a little calfskin bag off of her belt loop. "I took some things…his coin and a loose stone on his blade. Like a robbery. Like you said you did that time that hunter had you and Mother cornered in Cumberland."

He stared at her and she asked again, "Didn't I do it right? I'm so sorry I left her, Papa. I won't ever, not ever again."

Slowly, he nodded, his hand white-knuckled on the staff, but he took the bag dangling from Aeryn's small hand, blood streaking down her white fingers from the torn cuticle. "Yes. Yes, pup. You did just right. We…we aren't going to tell your mother, though, hmm?"

"Oh. Alright, Papa."

"We do need to leave. Don't say anything to your mother. I'll…I'll think of something. _Maker_…"


End file.
